Hurt
by Elpheen
Summary: Oh God, it hurts. Maureen's POV. Angst and selfharm, you have been warned.


**A/N: So I finally managed to find inspiration for a Maureen POV fic. Oneshot, because we all know that I can't finish anything longer than that. Heavy angst warning. Just so y'all know.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own RENT. -insert Idina's pout here- **

* * *

I hear a key in the lock, sighing as Mark dumps his stuff on the couch. Lately we've been drifting apart, since…April. I force thoughts of my best friend out of my mind, knowing that I have to be strong for Mark, for Roger. 

Roger.

The guy I'd once regarded as a brother. Since April…left, it's like he's a different person. No more sarcasm, no teasing, no flirting. I miss our friendly, often crude banter over late breakfasts. It was always the two of us, surfacing long after Collins, Mark and Benny had left for work, recovering from a night at the club or café, or theatre if I was lucky enough to get through an audition.

Mark's voice silences my thoughts, ringing through the apartment, "Hello?"

I open my mouth to answer, but I'm cut off by Roger coughing in the next room. There's no point in making my presence known now. Mark will be too busy looking after his best friend.

It's not like he appreciates me any more, anyway. It's like half the time I'm not really there, slowly disappearing. And yet the second I actually vanish for a night or two, crashing at a friend's, I get the Spanish Inquisition as soon as I get back home. Like he really cares. Maybe one day I'll disappear for good. See how they like that.

I rub my eyes, forcing back tears. I don't need them. I don't need anyone.

Why did you leave me, April?

Of course there's no answer. Never will be. I hate her for being so damn selfish, hate her for the mess she's left me in, hate her for not telling me she was going to do it.

I rip up the plan I'd been working on for a protest, tearing it to shreds. It doesn't matter. None of it matters.

I'll find you, April. I don't want to be alone any more. I can't do it. You always told me how strong I was, but I'm not, I'm not. I can't do this, April, picking up your pieces.

"We'll see how much Mark really cares," I whisper to no-one.

I reach for the scissors I keep in the drawer under my desk, opening them, dragging the flash of silver along my arm, fascinated by the way it slowly forms a red trail behind it. I do it over and over, until I feel it slice through, warm blood filtering from my arm onto the sheets.

And then pain.

Oh God, it hurts. How did you do this, April? Let yourself bleed 'til there was nothing left. Fuck, it hurts. Tears burn my eyes, and I throw the blade to the floor. What am I doing? I don't want to die, I don't, I can't.

"Maureen?"

Fuck, Mark. I can't answer, the words are trapped in my throat. He can't see me like this. No, I have to be strong for him. Shit, there's blood everywhere. What did I do? What was I _going _to do? Oh God, Mark, Mark…

"Maureen, are you…" I feel more than see him run to me, grabbing my arm. "My God, Maureen! Are you really that selfish?!"

What? Did _he_ call _me_ selfish? A sob chokes me, and I can't reply. I reach for him, but he backs away.

"I can't believe you'd go so low."

His eyes, those beautiful eyes, are cold and hard. His cheeks are flushed, but not in the way that was once so endearing to me. He's angry. Furious.

"Markie…" I manage to force out.

"Pull youself together, Maureen. I can't deal with your drama queen attitude right now."

He thinks I'm doing this for attention. Of course. Because a diva doesn't have feelings. Doesn't care for anyone but herself.

He slams the door behind him as he leaves, and I all I want him to do is hold me, kiss me, hold me… I want to scream. My room is closing in on me; the walls are smaller, the moon shining through the window is cold and I pull the sheet towards me, pressing it to my arm, biting my lip against the pain.

Curling up in the corner, I refuse to break, to cry. Hours later when Mark comes back, quiet apology flickering behind his glasses, he slips in beside me and I stiffen, not turning to meet his gaze.

"I'm sorry, Mo. I was out of line."

"Screw off," I bite out, doing the only thing I'm confident I can do: push him away.

He sighs and I continue to ignore him. I feel him leave the bed and wait for the door to click shut behind him before letting the tears take over, sobs tearing through me, forcing me into a lonely, restless sleep filled with memories and pain.


End file.
